by C. C. Wiley
Terrwyn’s breath caught. Dafydd ap Hew stood outside the door. He kept to the shadows but she knew her father’s craggy nose, his high cheekbones. A wave of homesickness washed over her. In the joy of seeing her father’s face she almost forgot to keep hidden. The joy was soon forgotten when Edgar Poole stepped up and clapped Dafydd’s shoulder as if they were long-lost friends.
Her jaw clenched. Her bones ached from the knowledge that Edgar Poole and her father consorted in the same circles. How could he do this? Echoes of arguments between Mam and her father rang in her head. It pulled the life from her blood until Terrwyn thought her heart would break.
Her life shifted, spinning wildly out of control until she thought she could no longer stand. How could her own father betray her? Mam had warned time and time again that their future lay elsewhere. Owain Glyndwr’s time had passed. Yet here her father remained, fighting against English rule.
All she had cast aside to correct her family’s plight no longer held strength. What was it the soldier had said as they took Drem away? You’d have no troubles if not for Owain Glyndwr’s band of mischief-makers. Her stomach rebelled at the realization. It was not just the fates that had known she and her brother rode alone. The soldiers had known exactly where to find them. A band of grown men pitted against two children. They never had a chance against those odds.
Saints above, where was James? She needed him. She needed the strength she gathered when his arms were wrapped around her.
Fearing she was about to lose both father and James in one awful night, she struck out toward the shed. She would face her father’s deceit, but she would not face James’s death. If she were to lose the battle, she would rather lose a part of her soul while fighting for her love. If she did not fight, her soul was already lost.
She gripped the bow in one hand and the arrow in the other. With the weapon pressed against the bow’s frame, she crept along the shadows. She peered through the crack where the smokehouse door sagged away from the hinge. Candlelight surrounded the few men huddled in the tiny room.
She stood to confront her father and found her back slammed against a solid chest. James’s arm wrapped around her and enveloped her in his embrace. “Come,” he whispered, drawing her away from the dilapidated building.
Relief of knowing James was safe quickly faded. She shook her head.
James left her no room for argument. He picked her up and carried her to a hedge of juniper bushes lining a low stone retaining wall. Once they were safely secured behind the shrubbery, he set her down. “You cannot charge in there, your arrows flying.”
“I have to make my father face the destruction he’s causing.”
“No good will come of it. I won’t let you destroy yourself.”
She shivered from the harsh truth. Her father had deceitfully jeopardized the safety of their village and all who lay within.
“Do you not see who is in there? ’Tis my good father,” she sneered, disdain dripping from her words. “The man of the village. The one who shall lead us out from under the heel of the English boot. Damn him. And did you see who joins him? That Englishman would enjoy seeing you and me, his cohort’s eldest daughter, dead on a spike.” She gripped James’s jerkin. “I cannot support anything or anyone that Poole is involved with.” The air caught in her throat. She choked out the last words. “Even if it means I cannot support my own father.”
James pressed her head to his chest. She could hear the cadence beating through his blood. “Hush, love. You cannot shoot the lot of them. We’ll bide our time.”
They peered through the shrubs and watched the outbuilding. The moon lifted until it hung straight overhead. Then finally, the meeting was over. From their vantage point they could see when Poole rode out. The sound of his horses’ hooves thundered past. A decision had been made. The riders raced off to their destinations. All but a handful of men remained.
Terrwyn squeezed James’s thigh when she felt the presence of another standing behind them. The fine sharp point of a blade poked gently at their backs. The jabs were light so as not to spill unwanted blood. But the warning was clear. They would not move unless directed.
“Come from the shadows, nice and steady.” He prodded James’s broad back. “’Twould be best if your hand didn’t get so close to your weapon.”
Terrwyn recognized the voice from her village. “Bran? Is that you lad?”
“Just keep moving toward the smokehouse.”
Dafydd strode out of the building and stopped in front of Terrwyn. “So this is where you run off to.” His speech was slow. His eyes were dull and without hope. “You’ve gone and spread your legs for the English, have ye, wench? When I get you alone, you will pray to Almighty God to forgive you. Then you will pray for my forgiveness.” He spat on the ground by her feet. “You’re no good to me now.”
Her heart breaking, Terrwyn realized all she had endured and sacrificed meant nothing. “How could you lie to your family?” she choked out.
“I’m fighting for—for—”
“For no one but yourself. For the power you once had.”
Dafydd wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “I’ll not live with the English boot on my throat forevermore.”
“Mam didn’t worry for no reason. She saw in your heart and knew the lies you were telling.”
“You won’t use her name in my presence. You failed her too. ’Twas your lack of skill that killed your mam.”
Terrwyn grabbed James’s sleeve, stopping him from stepping forward. “Nay, ’tis the bitterness in his heart talking.”
“Ach,” Dafydd spat out. “I cannot be expected to sit by, eating hand to mouth, while the English take over my land and my country. I do what I can to protect what is mine. Your mam thought she kept me reined in but I know what I’m about.”
“You unite with a selfish madman. He pits one against the other.”
“Sir,” James interjected, “although Poole sympathizes with the French who promise to place the crown on a true Welshman, you cannot trust what is said. Once they take control, do you think they will just hand over Wales to you? I promise you they will forget the help you gave them.”
“Nay! You know not what you are speaking of.”
“Sir, I tell you true, the French don’t support their promises. You cannot put your family in the jeopardy you are considering.”
Dafydd shoved past them and mounted his Welsh pony. His feet hung pathetically over the pony’s short stocky body. He pointed to Terrwyn, jabbing at the air with his finger. “Mount up.”
When she did not, his glare shifted to cold disdain. “So that is how it is? You failed me before and you fail me again.” He struck the palms of his hands together as if removing dust. “Your choice is made. You’re dead to me, girl. You are no longer welcome in our village or in my home.”
The proclamation made, he kicked his heels into the pony’s sides and wheeled about. “You there, Bran, see to it that they don’t stand in my way.”
Terrwyn turned into James’s arms. The dreams, the night visions, they did not wait for sleep but came at her and demanded to be seen. The darkness closed in, waiting for her to give in and let go.
James slid down the wall with Terrwyn still held within his embrace. She felt the life force, the energy that kept her going, seep out of her bones.
“Terrwyn,” he said, “you are not alone. I will help you find your brother.”
“’S no use. What would he come back to? A family built on deceit?” She looked up, not bothering to hide her heartache. “Mam knew in her heart that Father was not being truthful but, as strong as she was, could never call him on it. How am I to make a difference?”
James pulled her close. “You keep hoping and trusting the best will outshine the worst.”
Bran lowered his blade. He squatted in front of them, his hands braced on the hilt of the sword. Confusion darkened his expression.
Terrwyn looked up into Bran’s face. “I know you cannot do this. ’Tis wrong and
you know it.” When he took a deep breath, considering what she said, she pressed on. “You’re a good man. Catrin wouldn’t love you otherwise.”
Bran rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. “What are you doing here, Terrwyn? Your sisters are worried sick about you.”
“Do I have your word you won’t harm us? ’Twould loosen my tongue if you gave it.”
The smile and slight nod she had been praying for appeared. “Aye, how could I hold Catrin, all the time knowing I murdered her sister?”
“You remember Sir James?”
“Aye, he was with the Englishmen who were looking for Welsh archers to conscribe into their army.” His frown returned. “I recall you disappeared soon after they left.”
Seeing Bran’s mood change, Terrwyn quickly added, “He saw Drem after they took him. He intends to help me find him.”
Bran’s eye widened in surprise. “You’ve seen our Drem?” Distrust shifted and narrowed his gaze. “How do you know you can believe what this man says, Terrwyn?”
“I just do, Bran. You have to trust my wisdom on this.” Terrwyn stood without a care for the shadows that she created. “I cannot bring my brother home if there is no village left. What does my father plan with Edgar Poole?”
“That lying bastard?” Bran spit over his shoulder. “Your father has been planning to take over where Owain left off.”
James sat up. He gripped Bran’s arm. “Tell me what you know.”
“Aye,” Terrwyn urged. “’Tis the only path that will save us.”
Bran shrugged his shoulder to escape James’s hold. He looked about, searching the shadows. “’Tis not safe to talk out in the open.” He tipped his head toward the smokehouse. “We’ll talk in there.” Seeing the wary look in their eyes, he added, “I won’t harm you.”
They stepped into the building and Bran lit the stub of a candle standing on the worktable. The scent of smoked meat permeated the wooden planks. The ages of use had darkened the mortar stuffed between the fieldstones.
The dim light from the candle bounced off Bran’s red hair. His face was pale. The circles under his eyes were deep. He motioned for them to sit down in the chairs circling the table. Weary, he leaned his elbows on the table. He picked at the worn wooden planks with his nail. “A handful of English soldiers returned to our village in search of Edgar Poole.”
“And did they ask for us?” James said.
Terrwyn heart raced as they waited for his answer.
“Aye,” Bran nodded. “But no one knew anything to tell. There was a man who goes by the name of Simon. He left a message with Catrin. Said to tell her sister the gilly-flower was on its way to their family seat. Said you’d know what it means and offered his thanks. In truth, ’twas a puzzle to us all that they kept their visit short and orderly and didn’t seek out Dafydd or our men.”
Terrwyn smiled. At least one of her visions had ended well. When she caught the concern written on Bran’s eyes she stretched out to grip his hands. “Bran, you have to tell us what worries you.”
“I’m doing all I can to tend to your sisters and little Padrig but your father makes it difficult.”
Tears formed before Terrwyn could stop them. Her heart ached to see their faces. “How are they?”
“Adain and Glynis ask about you all the time. Catrin wears herself out caring for baby Padrig. She has a good heart. I’d wed her today if your father would allow it. ’Tis why I ride with him. To gain his approval. But his plan is filled with madness.” He looked up, his jaw set in determination. “I won’t have the children harmed. If I have to take them away from the village, then that is what I’ll do. With or without your father’s approval.”
James stood up from the chair and began to pace the small room. “Come on man. The hour grows late. Daylight approaches. Tell us what Poole and Dafydd have planned.”
Terrwyn placed a soothing hand on Bran’s shoulder. “We will protect the children from punishment. Won’t we, James?”
“Aye,” he said.
Bran’s head dipped in resolution. “They’ve sent a message on to detonate the ship that carries the English king before it sets sail for France.”
Terrwyn’s legs buckled. She caught the chair before she hit the floor. The pieces of the vision swam before her. She could not form the words she wanted to speak. She feared Drem was involved in the mad scheme her father put together.
James sat beside Bran and pulled out the leather journal from his jerkin. After selecting several drawings, he placed them on the table in front of the man.
Bran searched James’s face as though he thought he had gone mad as well. “You want me to look at drawings of flowers? Has one of the wheels in your head broken a spoke?”
James tapped the parchment with his finger. “Look closer.”
Bran picked up the squat candle and held it near the drawing. Men’s faces appeared from the flower petals. Their features blended into the scene unless you stared long enough. Then the scene fell away and all you saw were the men.
Bran swore under his breath. “’Tis sorcery or faerie magic.”
James pushed the parchment back to Bran. “Are there any faces you recall seeing before?” He glanced at Terrwyn. Her skin had turned a deathly white. Her eyes were wide and unseeing. She swayed in her chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. He rushed to her, Bran and the drawings forgotten. “Sweet love, what ails you?”
When she did not respond, he knelt down beside her. He took her hands in his and rubbed the cold from her flesh. Tears slid down her face but she seemed to not notice. She stared off into a place where he could not reach.
Bran stood behind him, his hand on James’s shoulder. “She’s gone to one of her night visions. ’Tis odd though. Catrin said they haunt her only when she is asleep at night.”
“Night visions? Why did she not speak of this?”
“Mayhap she feared you’d condemn her as others have done. There are those who would easily cast her out as a sorceress or find her filled with demons.”
“Not I.” James swept Terrwyn into his lap, cradling her in his arms. He pressed kisses to her temples, whispering, “Come back to me, love. Come back to me. Let me help you.”
“Mind you, her sister Catrin swore me to secrecy. But Terrwyn cannot hear you when these visions come upon her. You’ll have to wait for it to pass.” He sat at the table and returned to studying the drawings.
James refused to listen to Bran’s advice. He pressed a kiss to Terrwyn’s trembling lips while he unwound her braided hair. He buried his hands in her hair. Massaging her scalp, he pleaded with her to return. His heart lurched when he felt a soft sigh brush across his lips.
Pulling away, he saw her eyes were closed as if she slept. The lashes fluttered as she awoke. The smile she gave him cleared the leaden fear that filled his veins.
James dropped his head to press his forehead against hers. “Ah, love, you scared me.”
Her smile wobbled before she placed her fingers to his cheek. “’Tis a lovely kisser that you are, James Frost. I cannot like the thought of you learning on other women, but I’m grateful you were a fine student. You near curled my toes.”
Bran’s bark of laughter brought a healthy pink to her face. James grinned down at her and before she could voice any objections proceeded to curl her toes again. Thoughts of doing more than kiss her thoroughly were interrupted when Bran slammed his fist on the table.
“Enough,” Bran said. “’I cannot sit and watch you two anymore.”
Startled, they pulled apart as if he had thrown water on them. James glared at Bran for putting the wariness back in Terrwyn’s eyes. “’Tis all right, love. Tell me what brings you such great sadness. What did you see with your night vision?”
Terrwyn gasped. Her face blanching, she turned to Bran. “What did you say, you horse’s arse?”
“Nothing more than you should have done to begin with.”
“You had no right,” she whispered, her voice thread-thin.
> “The man thought you were dying. I could not stand to see him weep over you.”
“Terrwyn,” James said, “I don’t judge you. My own mother did speak of the gift you have.”
“Gift?” She shook her head. “I would call it a curse instead.” She gripped James’s forearm. “We must make haste to England if we are to stop my father from killing his own son.”
Bran bolted up, knocking the chair over in his haste. “Padrig?”
“Nay,” Terrwyn said, “Drem.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“We will talk more of this difference of opinion.”
“Say what you will, James,” Terrwyn argued, “’tis a curse until I cause the fates to turn from what I’ve seen. Until then, I have no proof that this is a gift.”
James sighed into her hair. He would let the stubborn woman have her way for now. Her stubbornness was one of the traits that he admired yet drove him mad at the same time. He would see to it his mother had a chat with her when they met.
Earlier that morning they had waved Bran off as he headed to the village. They had agreed that Bran would inform Dafydd ap Hew that Terrwyn and the Englishman were done away with as ordered.
They had yet to discuss what must be done with her father. James’s first priority was to save the king. Armed with dates and names from Bran, he knew he did not have much time. Traveling overland would take too long. He would have to find the means to sail from Bristol to Southampton’s port.
“’Tis a grand thing you do,” Terrwyn said.
“Aye. What am I doing to gain your favor?”
“Writing Bran a letter of introduction to your mother. My father won’t like it when he learns Bran has taken the children.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Are you certain she won’t mind the addition of my sisters and brother?”
“She will embrace them with open arms.” James squeezed Terrwyn, pulling her to his chest. “Especially after she’s met you.” He tightened his embrace to keep her from leaping off Zeus’s back.
“Meets me? What are you planning that you deemed unnecessary to discuss with me?”